Authors: Anya Forest
Christie walked back to the table, keeping her eyes focused on her empty chair. She tensed as she approached the table, realised Isla’s car seat was empty.
“It’s okay, Christie.”
She heard Lisa’s voice, looked at her, frowning. “Where’s Isla?”
“Here.” Christie looked down the table, realising with paralysing shock that Blake had spoken, was holding Isla. Isla who was now wide awake after sleeping through lunch, looking at the people around the table, her blue eyes trying to focus on the colours and unfamiliar faces. “Thanks,” she said automatically. “But I can take her.”
“She started to cry,” Blake’s companion said helpfully. “But Blake picked her up, and she was fine.” Unable to help herself, Christie looked at Blake briefly, saw his eyes flash with amusement at the description.
Inwardly cursing Isla’s timing, drawn against her will to the image of Isla in Blake’s arms, Christie smiled weakly. “Looks like she’s fine then.” She sank into her empty chair, knowing she could hardly create a scene, demand Blake return Isla to her without embarrassing them both.
Christie passed the next thirty minutes in a daze, continuing to make polite conversation with those around her, sipping her coffee automatically. She had made one further attempt to retrieve Isla; Blake had looked down the table, shrugged casually. “She’s fine here, Christie.” Christie had seen the dangerous glitter in his eyes, known he was teasing her.
Now, she set down her coffee cup as she saw people preparing to leave, relieved she could go without causing comment. “Maybe we could catch up for a coffee sometime, Christie? Where are you living; somewhere close to Queenstown?” Christie turned to James, politely explaining where the apartment was, her heart pounding as she registered that James was asking her out, albeit casually. She tried to formulate a response, reality crashing over her as she acknowledged that James was not Blake.
“Actually, come to think of it, I’ve got a few big projects on at the moment. But I’ll stay in touch.” Open-mouthed, Christie listened to James’ awkward retraction of his own suggestion, saw him flush slightly as he glanced down the table at Isla. Christie’s face burned.
Like James didn’t already know I had Isla,
she thought.
She was with me for the entire lunch. Still, I suppose it’s better he backs out now. And I’m hardly ready to meet someone else anyway,
she acknowledged to herself, remembering her reaction to seeing Blake again.
Christie shrugged to herself as James moved away to talk with other friends. She reached down to pick up Isla’s empty car seat, fixing a neutral expression on her face as she prepared to get Isla, make polite conversation with Blake in front of his companion and then leave. She turned, almost walking into Blake, tensed automatically as she stopped herself just in time. “Looking for someone?”
“Yes. Isla,” Christie spoke pointedly, trying to remain calm, ignoring the waves of desire that only intensified now that Blake was standing so close to her. Memories swept through her mind, ending with the recollection of his resounding silence since he had left her room at the hospital. Seeing her infant daughter so completely settled in Blake’s arms further unnerved Christie; he seemed completely comfortable holding her.
She glanced away, saw the blond girl who had arrived with Blake paying at the counter. Christie turned back to Blake, her heart pounding. “Thanks for looking after her, Blake,” she said, reaching for Isla. “You’ll be wanting to get going now.” She was relieved to hear her voice was natural, even friendly.
Christie said nothing further, frustrating him. Seeing her again was like a punch in the stomach; seeing Isla, how much she had grown had made him catch his breath. Hearing Christie’s voice, following her spirited discussion with others at the table had made him tense. Her conversation with James had not been one he could join, making him feel excluded as he heard the two of them talk about architecture, design, concepts he could only relate to because of the home he was building.
Blake had sensed the other man was interested in Christie, had been worried and then relieved as he had overheard the end of the conversation. The decision he had made months ago flashed through his mind as he realised with bitter humour exactly why James had reversed himself.
At least that buys me time…time I took for granted,
Blake thought, trying to ignore the insistent voice of his conscience reminding him of the way he had simply left Christie at the hospital.
I should never have let things get to this.
He looked down at Isla in his arms, thinking of the last time he had seen her, replaying the absolute despair he had felt when Christie again refused his help.
His resulting decision to simply not visit her again, made in the hospital car park that night, had not given him a moment’s peace as he found himself missing Christie, her sparkling blue eyes, her quick wit, her intelligence that matched his own. Then the dreams had started, dreams where his mind replayed the night Christie had stayed at his cottage, the sensation of her touch, her reaction to his embrace, his kisses. The way she looked at him when they shared a joke. The way she understood him. Dreams always ending with the harsh reality of her failure to trust him, to bring him into her life.
And then he had wondered about Isla, one afternoon almost guiltily flicking through the baby books he had purchased in that long ago surge of optimism, trying to imagine Isla growing, the miniature sapphire eyes becoming more alert. He looked at Isla now, realising she would be close to properly fitting the pale green outfit Christie had admired and he had purchased as a gift in Dunedin.
I really gambled,
Blake thought now.
In so many ways…and she still wouldn’t let me stay and support her, wouldn’t let me be involved. And yet…
“I’ll walk out to the car with you,” he heard himself say.
Christie stilled, her heart pounding. Desire snaked through her, desire she could only keep away through a massive effort of will. She nodded slightly, suddenly unable to look at him. “I’ll just go and pay,” she said quietly.
“No need,” Blake said briefly.
Christie closed her eyes for a moment. “I can pay my own way, Blake,” she said, her pride flaring. “You don’t need to keep rubbing your wealth in my face. “ Immediately, Christie coloured, realising how unfair her comment was. She saw his face close over, a sudden flash of anxiety in his eyes. She spoke immediately, apologising, trying to explain. “It’s difficult sometimes, remembering how much money I wasted in the past, and now having to think twice…I wanted to come out to lunch today…I’ve got an income now, but—”
Christie broke off, realising her words were becoming disjointed. “Thank you, Blake,” she finished weakly.
He remained subdued.
I’ve offended him,
Christie thought, realising how tactless she had been.
I should just tell her now,
Blake thought.
She still doesn’t trust me. She’ll find out anyway from someone else and then…
He shut his mind to her reaction, looked down again at Isla. Christie unlocked her car, strapping in Isla’s car seat, fumbling with the seat belt, able only to think of Blake, knowing he was standing right there.
She turned around, feeling the warmth of Blake’s body as she scooped Isla out of his arms. Flustered, Christie fastened Isla securely in the car seat, shut the door as she turned back to Blake. He had not moved, was still standing close to the car.
Christie looked up at him, his face unusually serious, his dark eyes intent on her. She felt as though she was drowning, was not even conscious of moving closer to Blake, sliding her arms around him, pressing herself against him, the warmth of his body protecting her from the icy wind. Christie tilted her head, sensing Blake kissing her face, her mouth, her throat, his hands starting to move over her body.
She heard Blake murmur her name; his tone brought tears to her eyes as she clung to him, not wanting to let go. Acutely attuned to his closeness, she was uncomfortably unaware Blake was pulling away, had stopped kissing her as he spoke.
“I only paid for things to help you, Christie. Not to make you feel—” he paused, “—obligated, or to remind you…I paid for things because I wanted to.” She nodded, trembling slightly, hoping he would think it was the cold, noticing his use of the past tense, her heart sinking. Rejection flooded through her; she tensed miserably as he continued speaking. “I don’t want you to think that I—”
“What?” Christie burst out furiously, embarrassed that he had stopped what she had started. “That you’d rather talk than…” Tears at his rejection filled her eyes; humiliated, she wiped them away. “A real southern man,” she said sarcastically.
Blake ignored the hurt beneath her tone; flushed with sudden anger. “Will you just listen?” he said, furious with her now, futilely trying to convince himself he regretted talking to her.
Admit it, you can’t stay away,
he thought to himself.
And now there’s James…
Christie glared up at him, her eyes bright with mingled tears and anger. Blake looked into her eyes and was lost in their blue depths. With a silent curse he tightened his grip around her, pressing her against the side of the car, kissing her with such passion, such strength, Christie’s senses swam.
Again, Blake pulled away, his expression still angry, guarded. Christie was speechless as desire and anger rippled through her, still struggling with her feelings, Blake’s hesitation and then… All she could think of was Blake’s mouth on hers, his kisses, his body against hers. Christie gazed up at him, seeing the emotion in his eyes.
Without another word, Blake strode away; Christie heard the slam of his car door across the car park. She stood there for several minutes, finally noticing the icy temperature, getting into the car as if in a dream.
Chapter Eighteen
Blake walked into the popular store in central Queenstown, knowing he would be cutting it fine for Brenda’s birthday party. Although things were resolved between them, the thought of attending the birthday lunch and the knowledge that Brenda had also invited his parents was enough to put him on edge. He had realised almost immediately that Brenda would have also invited Christie; tried to prepare himself for her presence.
The bookstore Blake had first gone into to choose a card only seemed to contain flowery cards; nothing seemed appropriate. Then he had hit on the idea of getting Brenda a gift for her kitchen, had walked into this shop, seen a selection of plain gift cards with relief.
Two birds with one stone,
he thought to himself, realising how much he disliked shopping, trying to ignore the contrary memory of the hours that had flown by shopping with Christie in Dunedin.
I don’t know what Christie wanted in the winery car park the other day,
Blake thought to himself as he walked back out onto the footpath with his purchase, still furious with his own loss of control, his inability to simply ignore her, walk away. Christie’s public reluctance to allow him any time with Isla also stung; he couldn’t help comparing her eagerness to retrieve Isla from his arms to her laughing agreement to others at the table she barely knew wanting to hold her daughter.
Won’t talk to me, doesn’t trust me with Isla and then throws herself at me,
he thought cynically, ignoring his own hurt at the situation.
“Blake, isn’t it? How’s everything going? How are Christie and Isla?” Blake swung around abruptly, unnerved. He realised that the doctor who had helped Christie give birth was also on the footpath, had stopped to talk to him.
He smiled politely. “They’re going well, thanks. Isla’s growing. I saw them both the other day.” The doctor watched him, her head tilted perceptively.
Blake kept the polite smile on his face, preparing to keep walking, surprised as the doctor kept the conversation going. “Christie mentioned at an earlier check-up that you weren’t her partner, that she would be raising the baby alone.” Blake shrugged, taken aback by the doctor’s bluntness. “She wasn’t sure if she’d have a support person, insisted on drawing up the most detailed birth plan I’ve seen in a while.”
“I can imagine,” Blake said, thinking of Christie’s constant need to be in control, to have every eventuality covered, wondering why the doctor was mentioning this to him.
“She even insisted on pre-signing consent forms for an epidural.” Blake nodded, waiting for the doctor to come to the point, his heart lurching painfully as the doctor’s words reminded him of being with Christie during her labour.
“Of course, I would have stopped anyway, but how did you know exams can be more uncomfortable during a contraction? And that an epidural can only be given at a certain stage?”
“I grew up on a farm,” Blake said carefully. “That doesn’t explain all of it,” the doctor observed wryly. “You even asked about the epidural strength. And recovery times.” Caught, Blake looked away. “I’d been doing a fair bit of reading online, got some books,” he said in a low voice. “About pregnancy, giving birth.”
“Well, I could tell Christie was an extremely intelligent woman. But with all the planning she’d done I was a bit taken aback with what she said to me during labour. I don’t often see that type of absolute trust, even between partners. But I have to say she obviously knew what she was doing.”